


Caliluma

by Mojidomo



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: California, Celebrities, F/M, Latino Character, Los Angeles, Other, POV First Person, Relationship(s), Sex, Smut, Social Media
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-10-17 10:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mojidomo/pseuds/Mojidomo
Summary: On the verge of stardom, Los Angeles indie wrestler Taryn Torres grapples with sex, love, celebrity, and the business.





	1. Capitulo Uno

What the fuck is on my nose?

“Wake up sleepyheeeead...” a girl’s voice whispers in my ear so close I can feel her breath. It’s the chick from last night, the one with the blonde hair and the perky titties. I can see her in my head, all thirsty and happy to see me, “El Toro Negro”. I could smell her from the ring. “I can’t believe...” she keeps talking, “...I actually... got to take you home last night...” She sounds whiter than she looks, if that’s possible, with her Valley ass accent. “I’m your biggest fan, and you have...” Finally she stops tickling my fucking nose but now the hand is traveling down my body. “...the biggest cock I’ve EVER seen.” All these bitches say that, but it’s true. Not that I’m conceited, but I got porn dick. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet and this chick’s ready to drown me again. She giggles and throws her bare leg over my naked body then licks my jaw. I open my eyes all slow and give her a fake smile. Her makeup is smeared from us fucking last night but she cute. She’s like twenty-one, twenty-two—at least I hope she is from the way she drank last night. For a skinny girl she drank like a bantam weight. If her ID was fake that’s on the bartender, I didn’t buy her shit. “There he is...” Her leg starts rubbing against my dick and here we go again. 

“Which ‘he’ you talking about, chica?” I ask, fake sleepy. 

“Oh fuck—I love your Spanish!” Course you do...Jessica? Jennifer? What the fuck is this chick’s name again? Whatever it is, she’s like all the other white ring rats out here thinking Spanish is “exotic” and shit. We like in fuckin’ California: this shit is just Baja North. “Mexican guys are so fucking hot.” I’m Costa Rican and Honduran but whatever, she wouldn’t know the difference. 

“Dame tu panocha, favorita.” She giggles some more at my basic ass Spanish while I pull her on top of me. She might be maaaaad annoying but that pussy is tight and I wanna play with them titties. “You wanna fuck Taryn Torres again, mamasita? Lemme see you ride this championship dick.” She sits up excited and I take the opportunity to rub her hot-pink nipples with my thumbs. They look like the erasers on old school pencils. 

“Mmm...I knew I had to meet you when I saw your Instagram...” My dick’s already hard but it’s getting harder when she says that. I know it’s not manly but, fuck it, I love attention. Being big and shredded with a pretty face and a fresh cut, I get plenty of it. It’s never enough though; I eat that shit up. I chose the right profession. “Don’t tell all those fat beards at your shows but I didn’t even like wrestling until I saw you.” She’s rubbing the head of my dick between her pussy lips now, teasing that fire. 

“I get that a lot.” I squeeze her b-cup tits in my big hands while she slides me inside. I could feel her dripping down my shaft onto my balls. Thank god I came last night or I would bust inside her right now. I grip both titties between my fingers and suck on the nipples. Once she has me all the way in those hot, tight walls, I slap her little as to let her know it’s time to work. After some horny moaning and whining she starts to fuck me back and forth, back and forth. I bite my bottom lips and put my hands behind my head. I’m sore from taking bumps the last few days, I deserve to lay back while she cleans me. She’s a good little worker. 

Between gasps, she looks down and smiles at me. Don’t fall in love, bitch. This ain’t that. These girls be so ready to invest their whole emotions when they get some big brown dick, man. Their hearts be as open as their pussies. I’ve loved two women in my life and this chick wasn’t about to be the third. Now she’s looking back and forth at my arms. I can’t even make sense of why before she starts asking questions. “Mmhm! Who’s—yeah! Fuck! Who’s—” I barely started moving my hips and this bitch already can’t even finish her thoughts. “Who’s Yale?” The fuck? Yale? What the—oh shit, my tattoos. My son’s name is tattooed on my arm. It’s Yael—YA-EL. “And,” she puts a shaky finger on my other arm, “and...Dahlia?” THA-LI-A—my mother. Her and her gringo autocorrect was making this awkward as fuck. Last thing I wanna think about while I’m fucking is my kid and my mama. Time to shut this bitch up before she kills the whole vibe. Before she can ask any more stupid questions, I flip her over on the bed without pulling out. I can’t tell if she does it outta fear or because I just bottomed out in her pussy but she screams and digs her nails in my shoulders. Guessing by the twisted up look on her mug, I just hit her spot. If she didn’t come right then she was real fucking close. I’m ready to blast so I start fucking her hard. “Fuck me papi! Fuuuck me!” 

She’s trying to cut a promo right now and I’m about that action. I can feel her clit getting smashed against my trimmed down pubes while the monster rips through her. I might make her come again before I get my nut. Ain’t that a bitch? “Abre tu flor, mi amor,” I’m grunting. I grab her hips and pound out every syllable. “Yo soy el abjejo, hagamos miel...” 

Her thighs lock up around my waist, she gasps and holds her breath. I can feel her coming on my dick, finally. “OOOH FUUUUUUCK!” she moans loud enough to blow us up the whole spot. The way she’s squirming, I’m ready to blow my stack too. I break her grip and pull out. It only takes two strokes before I shoot all over her stomach. She’s too busy catching her breath to react. I don’t care ‘cause my own orgasm feels so fucking good. After a few seconds I flop down next to her on the mattress, where we’re both breathing hard. 

She slides closer to me and kisses me on the cheek. “I love you.”

I have three different words for her. “Where’s your shower?”


	2. Capitulo Dos

I’m about to file for bankruptcy after this Uber ride. The lil’ hoe I just nutted and jutted on lives in Silver Lake and I’m trying to get to Inglewood on the other side of LA. That’s a fifteen-mile drive. It’s the weekend so prices are surging out the ass. I should’a listened to the brain in my head and drove my own shit to the show. But no, I start feeling myself when I’m in Toro Mode and act like I need the star treatment. Stars don’t drive themselves to performances, right? They gotta have drivers? Then I let my dick pull me out to bars with thirsty bitches wanting to get star-fucked. If I went straight to Inglewood after the show I wouldn’t have the game fucked up right now. My mama always told me I was the smartest tonto in south LA.

Skinny white boys with beards bigger than their rescue dogs keep lookin at me sideways while I’m waiting in front of the girl’s bungalow. We live in the same city but I know they only see dudes like me on the Internet. Ain’t a lot of six-footer Latin hosses walking around Brentwood or Malibu or wherever the fuck the live before they colonized over here. To be fair, though, I do kinda look like a extra in a old Fast and Furious movie: body like a god, tight ass wife beater, Dickies, work boots. I’m way too young and beautiful to be Vin Diesel but these betas probably think I’m The Rock. 

They can look, I’m gonna check my social. Nothing on the street looks as good as my Instagram feed and my notifications are poppin like always. Mira—I hold the mid-card belt in Championship Wrestling Without Borders (even though I’m the most over motherfucker in the whole bitchass promotion—BULLSHIT, bro) but I’m the king on Instagram. My follower count is 800K with no agency, no label, no reality show, none’a that. My wrestling, my selfie game, my looks: that’s what these thirst buckets and marks can’t get enough of. The numbers bring in the sponsorships that keep my son looking baby fly and his mama quiet and me from having to work a fucking day job. I gotta deal with the Kevin Spaceys in my DM’s waving money at me to suck my balls but you don’t even know how many girls I get to fuck for free. Twenty-thousand likes, fifty-thousand likes, a hundred-thousand likes...it’s good to be king, baby. 

“Hey Bro? Are you Darren?” I look up to see another white boy—a long haired blond surfer looking one—hanging out the driver’s side of a midnight blue SUV. “You order a Uber, guy?” I can smell his cheap weed from the sidewalk and see his eyes are squinty as fuck. 

I’m heated. “My name is Taryn, bro. Yeah, you my Uber. You better be good to drive, no bullshit.” I pick up my gym bag with my gear in it and look at him hard one more time so he knows I’m not fucking around. 

“Oh broooo, bro—I’m so good! Like, this is my natural state, I drive like this all the time. I bet you don’t need help with your bag, huh big fella.” His stoner chuckle don’t do shit to ease my nerves. “Hop in dude.” 

On my son, if I die in the car with this motherfucker imma come back and piss on his bones. I open the back passengers side door and throw my bag in, then climb in the front passengers side. I’m probably supposed to sit in the back but fuck that. The minute some funny shit happens I’m kicking him out the door and taking the wheel. 

“Hey uh...no offense Muscles From Brussels but you’re kinda supposed to sit in back.”

“Cool. Let’s go.” 

He hesitates for a minute, probably deciding if some ride rules are worth getting his ass beat over. We’re almost the same height but he’s skinny and I could snap him with one hand. 

“Homie, I need you to start driving.”

“Okay, bro, okay—but just this once.” He starts doing that stupid stoner giggle but I don’t give a fuck since he puts the car in drive. 

I take my phone out of my pocket and start scrolling again. I got another hundred and fifty followers on Twitter while I was fucking around with that bitch. That’s extra crazy ‘cause I hardly use the fuckin’ thing except for bookings and slides. If I open my DM’S you wouldn’t see nothing but agents, recruiters, and nudes. 

“I’m Liam, by the way.” CHINGADO—this boy don’t stop. “Well, William, but I’m not proper like that. I’m not really, like, a Bill either.

“Nice to meet you,” I mumble. 

“Pleasure’s mine, bro. Anybody ever tell you you have one of those, like...faces?” I ignore the question but that don’t stop him. “I’ve totally seen you somewhere. You play for the Rams?” 

Why every brown boy with some size gotta play football? “No.”

“You on TV?”

“Sometimes.” 

“Okay, sometimes—you’re an actor!” Why the fuck is he so excited for? 

“In a way I guess.”

“Ooooooh...you do porn?” Yeah but not on camera. This nosy fool is actually waiting for me to answer, all enthusiastic and shit. 

“I’m a wrestler, bro.”

“No way! You do WWE?! Like The Rock and stuff?!” 

See? I told you: all they know is the fuckin’ Rock. “I don’t wrestle for WWE, I wrestle for CWWB.”

“Oh, no, no, dude. I didn’t mean it like that. I say ‘WWE’ when I mean ‘wrestling’. Sorry, it’s what I grew up with. No disrespect.” 

“Aight, cool. People do that shit a lot, like when they call MMA ‘UFC’. Brand recognition.” Our output is better than theirs though, mostly due to me being the shit. 

“Yo but like I’ve heard of CWWB though. It’s Cali based. Big, like, facility in DTLA?” 

“Yeah.”

“And you—you’re like...the bull guy...”

“El Toro, Taryn—“

“TORRES! Taryn fucking Torres bro! I knew it.” He pushes me on the arm like we friends. We not. “Dude my little brother—well, he’s not so little anymore now that he’s 15—but him and his friends fucking love your stuff. Fucking wait until I tell him—“

“Aight man, just—eyes on the road. You can’t tell him nothing if we’re both dead.” 

“You’re like the champ over there right? You got the belt?” 

I’m the most relevant champ in that bitch, yeah. “I’m the Interstate Champion. Chad Ventura is the CWWB Champion.”

“That’s the old guy?” Exactly. I respect the man but thirty-five is a hundred and three in wrestler years. Bill Clinton was getting his dick sucked the first time JC ran the ropes. 

“He’s been around a long time, yeah. He’s the face of the company.” That media training they make us do taught me how to say that shit off rip. I should be the face of the company. 

“Hey man, the respect vibe—I dig. Gotta respect your elders, right?”

“He’s a veteran of the business. His experience and his service to the sport are invaluable.” Now it’s time for him to go home and play with his kids. 

“You live over in Inglewood, bro? That’s legendary.”

Legendary? That means he only knows it from rap songs and black movies. “Something like that. I’m goin’ to see my son.”

“That’s what’s up! How old?”

“He’ll be four this year.”

“You cool with his mom?”

“Yeah.” It’s more complicated than that but it ain’t Liam’s business. Traffic is moving decent for LA but we’re not even halfway to where I’m going. I’m over the free meet-and-greet, so I ask “Yo, Liam, can I plug in my AUX cord? Feels weird being in a car with no music.” Imma drown his ass out.


	3. Capitulo Tres

“Bro, thank you SO MUCH for the pic, bro!” After long ass drive across the city, Liam finally pulls up to my baby mom’s place in Inglewood. 

I grab my bag and open the door on my side. “Yeah man. Like I said, tell little bro I said keep it Caliluma, alright.” 

“Of course man! ‘Caliluma’! Fucking right. Hey, would you mind giving me a five star review when you get a chance? Us drivers live and die on that shit.”

“For sure man.” I don’t mean it and I probably won’t remember. But then also I’m too high profile for people to think I don’t treat service people right, so he might get one in a few days. I step on the ground and shut the door. The street is already hot from the sun and I know imma have to ice my balls to stays cool. 

“See you at your show bro—“

One of the neighbors honks his horn at him before he can keep talking. “Getcho ass on, Shaggy Doo!”

I laugh and take the chance to jog up the driveway to the front door. I can hear my baby talking somebody’s head off through the doors. He smart like his mama with my personality. Hearing his voice makes me smile, like I can’t even help it. I go to ring the doorbell but somebody’s voice stops me before I can push. “Uh...excuse me? Does Brejanna live here?” It’s a dude’s deep voice outta nowhere. I turn around to look at him: he’s a tall light skinned nigga with green eyes and a fade, holding some flowers and wearing a Canadian tuxedo. Where she find this one at?

“Maybe. Whachu want with her, Lawrence?”

Dude looks confused. “Lawrence?” 

“Yeah, you look like a ‘Lawrence’ with them skinny jeans and them corny ass flowers.”

“I’m Medgar. I work with Brejanna at the bank. You must be—“

“Don’t worry about who I am. I need to know who you be, Medgar.”

I wanna bust him in the lip for the way he’s looking at me right now. “Taryn.” Now he’s nodding at me all cocky. “Bree mentioned you.” ‘Bree’? For real? That’s what I—ME—that’s what I call her. The fuck do this motherfucker think he is coming to MY baby mama’s house when I’M trynna see MY son—

“Little Mexican boy, if you don’t stop playing on my porch!” MALDITO—it’s Yael’s grandmother standing in the open door looking like Venom: black and evil. 

“I’m not Mexican, Roxanne! You know this!” I raise my voice but do it with a smile ‘cause, really, I don’t want that smoke. Rox is like two feet shorter than me, skinny with her nails and hair did but this bitch—wait, wait, chop that—this...woman...is hood as fuck. “You should understand your grandson’s heritage, right?”

“He black. I understand.”

“He—Yes but he’s also Honduran and Costa Rican—“

“Save me the geography lesson, ‘lil boy.” She puts her hand in my face like I’m not the baddest man on the planet. “How you doin’ baby?!” She waves at the simp with that same hand. “Brejanna almost ready.”

“Hey Mrs. Holmes. You look beautiful.”

“OOP—Thank you baby! I’m trynna age like that fine wine you bought us the other night.” Roxanne cuts her eyes at me like two daggers. She wanted me to feel those words. I do, and she can probably see it in my own eyes. ‘See that? Fine wine? That’s expensive, sophisticated shit you don’t know nothing about?’ That’s what she’s thinking, with her evil ass. “ANYWAY...You wanna come in for some kinda refreshment while you wait?”

“Ey, I don’t need this stranger ass nigga around while I’m trynna spend time with my son, Roxanne.” I meant that, all bullshit aside. 

“When you have a roof to put over your sons head you can call them shots. But you don’t, so you won’t.”

“I have a roof—“

“You have roommates. In an apartment. Not even a house.”

“Sounds like I better wait outside, Mrs. Holmes. It’s cool, I just filled up the Range, I just upgrade the AC—“

“—MIJO!” I shout into the house after my son. “Daddy’s here, mijo! Come to the door.”

Roxanne stabs me in the stomach with one of he acrylic claws. “Whose house you shouting in?! You must be out your goddamn—“

“DADDY!” Yael busts past his grandmothers leg faster than any three-year-old should be able to move. Before Roxanne can finish bitching at me, I scoop him up in my arms and kiss him all over his head. I’m a macho guy, right? But fuck that—my son will never doubt his daddy loves him. That’s my baby. 

“You miss me, mijo? Huh?” Yael nods with a smile fool of baby teeth. He looks like a darker version of me, gums and all. My mama shows me the pictures all the time. “Papa missed you too. I been waiting all week to see you.”

“I saw you on TV,” my boy says, flexing his arms like I do all the time. 

“Oh yeah? Gramma Roxy let you watch papa wrestle?” I see Roxanne glare at me out the side of my eye. I guess not. Would’a shocked the shit out of me if she did. 

Yael shakes his head ‘No’. “Mommy.”

“Mommy? Mommy let you watch?” I ask. This time he shakes his head ‘Yes’. 

“Of course I let him see his father. Don’t I always?” I hear Bree’s silky voice from close range before I see her. She steps out of the shadows of the house looking like a model on a runway. I don’t know shit about fashion but I know she looks damn fine in that bright green dress, popping off that chocolate skin and that long, wavy black hair. “Don’t I?”

I don’t even remember what she said, she looks so good. “Huh?”

Bree smiles at me like I’m the slow kid in class. “Nothing, Taryn. You look good.”

My cheeks get warm and I know I’m blushing like the eighteen year old I was when I met her. “And you look...better than good...” I’m usually better with words but no tengo nada—I got nothing. 

“Brejanna, how long you think you gone be gone, baby?” Roxanne asks with pissiness all through the words. “You know I have a date too, now. I might be staying the night at Frank’s tonight and I don’t want El Bullshit in my house when I get back.”

“MAMA...” Bree nods at Yael, who’s too busy running his hand over my bristly hair to pay attention to his evil abuela. Roxanne looks at him and softens herself. “I’ll be back in time to put my baby to sleep. Don’t feed him a bunch of sugar, Taryn. You know he won’t sleep if you do.”

“Yes mommy.” I wink at her and bite my lip. She rolls her eyes at me but I know she’s flattered. We can’t fool each other. 

“Alright, I believe you,” Roxanne continues killing the vibe. “Medgar knows better than to try to keep you out all night. HE’S a gentleman.”

‘He’s a gentlemaaaaan!’ I mock her in my head. He’s a bitch and I’ll beat his ass the second he steps outta line. 

“Unlike Frank?” Bree answers back with a smirk. 

“That’s grown folk’s business, lil girl. You might LOOK like a bad bi—uh, a bad...girl but I’m still ya mama.”

Bree kisses her on the cheek. “Yes ma’am.” She puts hand on our son’s back and gives him a long kiss on his cheek, making him giggle. “'Dame tu azucar!” She taught herself Spanish way before we met. She thought it’d help her get jobs. She was right, of course. She always is. 

Part of me waits for her to give me a kiss, too. I should know better. “Bye T. Please feed my baby something with a vegetable tonight.” Instead of something affectionate like a hug, she daps me up like I’m the homie. The, knowing I’m disappointed, she clicks away in her fancy heels. 

I sigh and turn back to Yael. “What you wanna do, mijo. Your choice.”

“Cartoons!”

“Cartoons it is.” 

I open the screen and start to walk in the house but before I can put a foot down inside Roxanne stops me. “Unh-uuunh, unh-UNH! Take them dirty gym shoes off before you step in my house, boy.”


End file.
